


Comforts of Home

by PinkGluestick



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adult Language, Adult Themes, Bottom Connor, Connor baby has insane thirst, Connor getting stretched and filled, Eating Connor until he’s melting from his hole, Hank fully intends to water his little flower pot, Hank's huge cock, I don’t know how to prepare you guys properly, Kinks galore, M/M, Messy, NSFW, Smut, Top Hank, Trans Connor, Trans!Connor, Window Sex, cursing, minx Connor, more than I’m aware of possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18987706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGluestick/pseuds/PinkGluestick
Summary: This is dirty, slutty window sex, and I think, some variant of a nesting kink.*EXPLICIT *SMUT* NO PLOT WHAT SO EVER*Just messy, trashy, filth- slightly unsettling.BE CAREFUL VIEWING





	Comforts of Home

**Author's Note:**

> My ideas didn’t get any safer, but I still need to write them.
> 
> Good luck with this one

Hank’s shirts had a tendency to become sentient at times. Sometimes they were already folded inside his drawers. Sometimes they came back to his room smelling like lavender. Sometimes they found their way onto the hangers in his closest. It wasn’t Hank’s doing so that of course could only leave the ‘shirt fairy’. The tall, lanky, floppy haired, shirt fairy.

He didn’t know if he’d put too many holes in his shorts or left them collecting dirt on the bathroom floor one too many times, but he’d managed to piss the little fairy off.

He’d noticed his shirts were going missing more and more often. Eventually they showed up again, but they’d be lost for weeks at a time before they did. He hadn’t realized the problem even existed for several months, and would have stayed oblivious, if he hadn’t had to clean his own laundry for once. It was such a rarity he ever did, and it was only because Connor was off to Jericho for a few days. 

He thought he might find the other half of his shirts in the dryer, waiting to be hung. He carried the dirty hamper over to load the washer and pulled the dryer lid up. To his confusion, he didn’t find them, and he calculated he was down a whole basket of clothing now. 

Soooo, where did that leave them? 

It was possible they were still in the bathroom so he looked there. Connor would be back in another night and Hank could always just ask then, but it wasn’t like he had anything special to do while he was waiting. He spent most of Connor’s trips away drinking and lounging as he sadly had to admit his life had come to revolve around the the man. Most of it, anyway. When Connor was gone, so was Hank’s motivation to do anything.

He tried to remember how important a figure head Connor had become after the revolution and be considerate of those who needed him at Jericho.

That didn’t change his feelings over the absence of his best friend. It wouldn’t make him more self-sufficient for his caretaker’s sake just because he was away. So Hank was rarely as productive as he was tonight. Connor would likely be surprised he did anything other than stare at the tv every hour he wasn’t there. But especially a chore.

Hank didn’t find the rest of his laundry in the bathroom, either. Something like dirty clothes normally wouldn’t bother him, particularly not when Connor was often the sole caretaker. They were no doubt somewhere Connor had access to so worrying about it was sort of ridiculous.

 

Yet the more it became a mystery, the more he wanted answers. 

Where the fuck else could they be? Why were they missing?

He checked through his dresser drawers again, sifting through what few clean clothes were left folded and stored there. No luck. He trudged through the deepest, darkest part of his closest, the part that he hoarded all the clutter that didn’t have a place in the house yet.

When he didn’t find them there either, that’s when Hank finally decided he’d pissed off the resident maid. Connor was the only one who dealt with the heaps and mess Hank would leave. 

He thought about sending Connor a text asking what the deal was, but decided to try one last place first. 

Connor’s stayed in the spare bedroom at the end of the hallway. The little narcissist had a penchant for fashion. He had his own clothing and dressers, filled with trendy little outfits Hank would have scoffed at in his youth. He’d never worried so much about his looks as Connor did....not that it wasn’t a little endearing. 

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have quite a bit to be proud of.

Sumo perked his head up as he watched Hank sneak around the house like some kind of idiot, anxious to enter Connor’s bedroom. Connor would trudge through Hank’s room like he owned it as often as he wanted- so the double standard didn’t make much sense. Hell, Connor regularly put his hands in Hank’s personal things. It was *his* house so Hank’s uncertainty was laughable. He’d just like to think Connor would appreciate it. 

He was a bit of an introvert about his interests, often showing signs of self consciousness. 

The amount of times he’d stopped Hank from entering his room or flung himself at the door were far too many to think nothing of. It may not be a great deal fair that way, but Hank wasn’t going to make a big deal out of something like this. Connor always let him in eventually, anyway. He just needed to ‘clean up first’ before Hank entered. Weird, considering Hank actively lived in a pig sty, but he would respect it.

Connor had a dresser he’d bought with his third paycheck that had a giant vanity mirror screwed in the back. He kept it close to his bed, which Hank had easily predicted was his first stop of the day. Connor didn’t even make the 5 steps to the bathroom shower without grooming himself first. His vanity could be a bit ridiculous at time, like wearing makeup to the gym.

Another insanely annoying, yet endearing, trait of his.

Hank turned the lights on and tried not to pry too much. Just about everything in Connor’s room was part of an aesthetic and kept very neat. There wasn’t too much decoration, but enough to enforce his sometimes pretty boy personality. Hank knew that was a little unfair to think that way. Connor was his own man and could have his own interests, even if they came in strings of bedroom lights and expensive bedding. 

It was just....hard not to impose his own, uh, ‘interests’ on the matter.

Hank had already a bit peeved this android with a pert ass, soft voice, and puppy eyes had showed up in his life in the first place- Meeting *way* too many requirements in his taste.

The weird thing about *that*, the almost non-sensible thing, was that Hank actually had every other taste in a male partner than what Connor had to offer. 

Originally, anyway.

The men he’d dated were about his size and thickness with very macho-like personas. They weren’t overly concerned with their appearance and literally nothing about them was soft.

So it was the most out of body bullshit for Hank to find himself losing himself more and more each day he analyzed Connor’s polished charm and pampered personality. 

He bled poshness, a rather high esteemed Android. He could wring Hank’s patience dry with little more than a smart ass comment and a subtle wink. Like he thought he was so damn much.

By the end of it, Hank just wanted to spread him belly up on the living room floor for a good old fashioned in-and-out. Show the little brat who was boss.

It was more manageable now. The novelty of a hot piece of ass living in his house with those tight abs had worn off about the time his brain had finally convinced him he was being delusional. Connor was not going to suddenly break out with 53-year-old-man-dick-fever and start presenting him his ass.

Not that Hank wanted it to go in that order....

Images and analogies like that really didn’t help his case, of course.

He approached the dresser, wishing he had a pair of gloves somewhere to keep his fingerprints off its surfaces. Connor could easily construct if he’d been in there, and if Hank came out of this without any proof of missing clothes, he’d no doubt look like some kind of creeper. That was to say the least*.

Suddenly, things didn’t feel right. There was no reason for him to go through Connor’s dresser, especially without his permission, as Connor would have never taken his clothing anyway. There was nothing for him to do with them and if there were, he never would while being so strung up on being fashionable. 

He’d honestly almost died when Hank dented his Dior sunglass holder. He wouldn’t suddenly drop the prestige bar to start wearing old, hole ridden shirts three sizes too big. 

That said, Hank often wondered how someone with $300 shoes could stand to fucking live in a house like Hank’s. Hank knew with out a doubt Connor considered them very best friends when he’d realized the massive difference in taste for the first time.

Hank sighed, realizing how dumb this was getting.

He left the room as exactly as he’d found it, lights off. All he had to do was text Connor or wait, like a normal human being. It wasn’t like he couldn’t survive off of 6 full outfits when Connor was coming back the very next day. 

Hank threw something containing 50% more salt than Connor would be happy about into the microwave and spread out on the couch. He settled in for a long, boring evening with his dog. 

He could always screw that new ceiling fan in for the living room before Connor did. That’d be enough productivity to call it a night after, right?

 

Yeah.

That would be enough functioning until Connor got back. Screw the clothes.

 

——————

Hank was busy with the precinct more often than Connor was, though not by much. He had the option of taking leave for android rights issues- at the precinct’s begrudging compliance. Androids involved in any way in rescue and health movements were free to take small leaves of absence from their work. The demographic for help and community was so small, their leaves were necessary. Plus a human couldn’t offer an Android the same help and resources another android could.

Humans had no choice but to let the androids go, much to their employer’s disdain. 

Being provided with the same rights as humans wouldn’t allow for short cuts on the matter, regardless of angry bosses everywhere, and so Connor found himself working part time every now and then at the department. Depending on the demand, of course.

He performed both jobs with perfect diligence and never struggling to keep the two balanced. That wasn’t to say he missed spending time with Hank. 

It was almost jarring any time he had to prepare for a Jericho trip. It always meant several days away from cooking the Lieutenant breakfast and riding in his car together on the way to work. He missed working the 8 and a half hour shift where he’d make insanely bland jokes and bring coffee to his partner those days. He liked being at the precinct more- so much more. But he was needed and he was capable, so here he was.

There was only one night left before he could see him again. Where he could be home cook freely, and watch tv, and play with his dog. And all his meanial little routine tasks he was so fond of doing. 

His spare room at Jericho wasn’t half as personal and ornate. It was tight and functional, something clinical a more previous model of himself without his deviancy might appreciate. Connor was a bit too ‘extra’, Simon had dubbed him, too be quite comfortable with this spread. Not much longer after gaining free will, Connor had discovered this side of himself and became somewhat known for it. Clinical didn’t suit him anymore, and he craved the familiarity of his memory foams and various blue aesthetics. 

That said, Markus had a deep appreciation for his ability to be practical. Unlike some androids who’d discovered their finer tastes, Connor did not try to limit his stay at Jericho on such a thing. He could do his job with little struggle and be reasonable about his live-in conditions. He knew all those great things would still be waiting on him when he got home, anyway.

Considering everything, none of that was Connor’s real stressor. That title belonged to something else, something secret. No one knew of his most precious preferences; Markus included.

And oh, how he missed it, missed *them*.

What good was a bed when that bed wasn’t made of *them*???

It was pointless to activate rest mode under such circumstances. Pointless and impossible to ask of him, no matter how reasonable he could be.

It’d been three nights without them, and Connor was now desperate to get home.

——————

Hank had work in a few hours. Depending on what time Connor came in, the android might not make it to shift. Not unless he came home early or just wanted to spend the extra effort. Any one else would enjoy a day, even just a few hours, off, if given the chance. But Connor had come in to work when there was only three hours left before. Coming straight out of a 4 day absence and straight into work. 

Hank was just excited to see him again, whenever he could. He was coming home today and he often brought dinner with him if it was in the evening. How perfect does one’s best friend get?

He scratched at his chest, looking up through the darkness at his ceiling. It had gotten a little more hot than usual the last few weeks, and the first trip was definitely the shower. 

He found Sumo laying at his feet by the bedside. Hank did so love waking up to an obstacle course. The poor beast missed his more attentive owner, and it was no secret Hank had become something of a plan b when Connor was out. After all, Connor was the one who brought him dog treats.

He shuffled down to the foot of the bed, aiming his footing so he wouldn’t step on a tail. Sumo didn’t even stir when his other foot collided with his mountainous backside fluff. Hank shook his head, but managed to maneuver his way off the mattress. 

He went to get clothes for the shower when he remembered-

Shit....he hadn’t dried them. 

He’d forgotten all about that part. He supposed he thought the shirt fairy would swoop in and take care of that part- maybe leave a little magic flower in each pant pocket. 

He hurried out of the bedroom to start the drying cycle. It would be about 30 minutes and he had an hour still before time got constrained. 

With the house to himself, Hank could afford to shower and waiti naked until the clothes were finished. He wasn’t about to skip breakfast, so he’d just have to compromise.

Hank stopped in front of his bathroom, hand resting on the doorknob.

He may be old, but he was definitely not crazy.

He stood perfectly still, listening for the slightest bit of sound.

He may be paranoid, but he was definitely not hearing things.

There it was again-

A voice. 

It was muffled like it was in the distance somewhere.  
No- not distant....  
Close.  
Much closer than he thought.

He walked towards the end of the hall where the spare bedroom and the sounds of a person suddenly came muffled through the wall. 

The door was closed but a thin layer of light shone through the crack of the bottom. Someone was here, most likely Connor.

Hank debated going back for his gun to be sure, but decided it wasn’t the first time Sumo, as infatuated as he was, had slept through his favorite owner coming home. 

Who would break into this fucking place, anyway. A single glance at this street should be enough to deter anyone from robbing the place for money. People around here were too practical to spend big or were looking for somewhere to live out there last year’s.

The voice, though entirely indecipherable, had just enough softness to be heard through the walls to identify Connor. His voice was so peculiar and incomparable to any other that Hank had heard. 

Hank wanted to call out, he wanted to make sure everything was ok. He was back way earlier than Hank expected and he wondered if maybe something had happen. Was Connor hurt? Those noises were weird; he’d never heard Connor make them. 

Hank stood there, waiting for the right answer to come when-

 

Oh fuck...

That....

That was definitely a moan.

Hank blanched, face draining of all color while subsequently turning red. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He practically ran for the kitchen, tripping over a now groggy, woken Sumo slumping into the hallway. 

 

Hank ate breakfast, he fed Sumo, he wore dirty clothes, and he did not go anywhere near the end of the hall again.

He waited as patiently as possible for 8:30 to roll around before he could reasonably ditch Connor, who still hadn’t emerged for work. 

 

Connor never showed himself, and Hank was given his escape. He hightailed it to the precinct for virtually nothing as he wasted the whole. Damn. Day. 

Nothing got finished. No level of peace of mind was tangible enough for that. If Hank had gotten into a shoot out right then, someone would of had to tell him if he’d gotten shot. 

His mind turned between a blank page to practically swimming through the noises in his head. His brain was even playing tricks on him, making the sounds louder, filling in the octaves and decibels it would take to create Connor’s voice a little more clearly. Then his brain butchered them, as soon as the information was there. It twisted then into these wildly over exaggerated moans like something from a porno. And by GOD, that was when Hank put his foot down.

He requested off an hour early. More like walked out since Jeffrey said he’d ‘rather he didn’t.’, but then he should have made that a definitive ‘no’, shouldn’t he? 

 

Hank almost didn’t realize how very bad, bad, bad his unspoken reason for leaving was. It didn’t catch up with him until he was at his door, sliding the key into the lock.

His hand was actually shaking.

There was one thing he’d refused to let himself think the entire time he sat stewing at work. Now, it was most obviously the only thing he even cared about. 

Alone time. the pants-less kind.

Was he really about to go inside his house, his house he shared with Connor, and jerk off to twisted versions of him moaning? Could he live with himself if he did that? 

Could he even hold a conversation with Connor after this?

That’s when he got the brillant, perfect idea to just watch porn. Just porn with headphones on full volume. Just. Porn.

He had to do something with this raging erection making his dick feel like absolute fire, and Connor was not to enter his thoughts. Not *ONCE*.

Plan in place, he finished letting himself in. 

He didn’t try to do anything else once inside but head straight to the bedroom. He started looking for something to play, the risk of playing Connor’s moans the minute he lost focus too great. Especially now with his room was so close- the scene of the crime.

Connor wasn’t there. He could tell by the absence of an android cooking dinner in his kitchen or coming out to greet him. 

He briefly checked that the light in the spare room was off as he passed by. Connor didn’t nap, and there was little other it’d still be off.

He was all set to crank up some messy pegging porn and rub out all his frustration until his brain was functional again.

 

He found the video he’d favored and plugged in his headphones. He wasn’t five seconds into locking his door before he was desperately fisting his cock against it.

He told himself it was a self indulgence, that he simply missed getting it wedged up the ass, hard, and turned inside out on someone’s thick cock. But that flat out wasn’t true anymore.

Maybe it’d started that way, but now is was about their bodies. 

He wished he could stop his brain from thinking it, but Hank imagined the lithe figure of the man on screen was a bit similar to someone else he knew. Especially with his head bent down in such a way. He kept his ass high for his pegger, sweet and proud. His docile behavior, his desire to share such submissiveness as he arched his back- it wasn’t too insane to think of someone else he knew like this. But it was insane for Hank to allow it.

He knew he shouldn’t and if the working part of his brain ever found out, it would shut down his little dick games immediately.

The man above the Connor-like one adorning the strap-on was larger, *much* larger. His hands wrapped around the dip of his pet’s waist and his fingers nearly touched tips. His grip was firm but not bruising and yet all too overbearing as it was for such a smaller figure. His steady hand took its toll on the other who moved back at its warmth, trying to crush his ass into the other’s silicone dick.

It didn’t take maybe 3 minutes of video before Hank was spilling over, though, much to his horror, it came at the exact moment he heard Connor’s unabashed screaming.

It was so sudden.

Now coupled with a vision of a thin man rearing back onto a thick dick, Hank had somehow manipulated Connor’s barely audible moans into desperate, wall shaking pleas.

Very obviously not factual, and now Hank had an even bigger problem.

He stilled, blood turning to ice. He looked down and the mess on his hands, spilling over his jeans. The scene was fresh in his mind the entire time he was changing. The terrible thing he’d done was undeniable and he found he couldn’t hide even a hint of the truth from himself.

He had a problem of epic proportions, and he knew *exactly* what to do about those.

————————  
There was only one time Hank would ever considering riding in automated transit. It was rare he ever had to, and especially so with Connor around. Every now and then, however, Hank had to get drunk- *stupid* drunk.

He took the taxi to the bar but was reluctant to take it back. He would have done anything to stay only three drinks off of alcohol poisoning (a bit of hyperbole there). Everything except risk Connor. 

He got a text on his phone at about 10 pm from Connor saying, and lying, that he had just gotten home. Hank didn’t blame him for anything about lying. He wouldn’t tell Connor either if he had come home to jerk off real quick in the early morning hours.

But it still changed everything. 

Hank still wanted to rush home to him and watch tv. To play catch up about his trip to Jericho and swear he was spoiling Sumo. Despite how badly he needed to forget things, to be as drunk as a skunk, Hank *wanted* to see Connor more.

He tried to fight leaving the bar too early, but by 12 in the morning, Hank was well past his single shred of endurance. 

He crumbled, thinking about Connor waiting for him on the sofa with a pillow to his chest, and that was enough to finally leave. Hank tipped the barkeep. 

He went straight home inside the creepy, driverless taxi and slightly cursed that he’d only gotten it in the hopes to be too inebriated to stand. 

He knew Connor would be home today, whenever the Android finally came forth about it. He knew he’d want to be home the minute he was, and he knew Connor would get antsy if he was out here drunk somewhere. 

He should have texted Connor he was on the way home, put his mind at ease considering he was being too polite to badger Hank about his whereabouts. He should have drank at home.

It shouldn’t matter. They should be able to have their own lives and own interests, yet Hank knew and Connor knew they were just a little bit beyond that. They managed it, they could control it, but it was still there. 

A sort of possessiveness. Thankfully, neither one knew the other felt that way, and it was easily covered up with a broader excuse both were willing to believe. It was nothing more than two police partners, an insanely intimate relationship regardless of who or where you were in the job. These feelings, these were normal. 

It wasn’t deep. It didn’t hace to be deep.

Hank stumbled out of the taxi, still swaying a bit on his feet. The taxi doors shut as it drove away, leaving Hank to fumble embarrassingly against his front door for his keys.

His keys.....

Fucking HELL. He’d left those HERE.

Hank could honestly scream right now but the neighbors were well past dealing with him. They were ready to take up arms if they heard a single peep out of the him and Connor.

Connor!

 

Hank was so glad he was home right now ‘cause Hank was way too drunk and way to stupid to deal with this right responsibly.

He banged on the door, calling for Connor to come without screaming too loud. It was obvious he wasn’t in the living room by the quiet and a peak through the blinds confirmed this.

Hank started walking around towards the hole in the kitchen window before he stopped and remembered they had finally fixed that about a week ago. It had only taken them a shameful 9 months post revolution. 

Scrubbing his face, Hank was really struggling to accept how stupid he looked right now; tripping around his house at 12 something in the morning looking for a way in. 

A sober, functioning brain might call Connor to wake him up if he were in stasis.

Hank’s brain, muddied by a thousand other issues, picked a different path. It pushed him on shaky legs past the kitchen window, through the backyard fence and frightfully uncut grass, all the way to the other side of the house where the window to the spare room was. 

In his defense, Hank made lots of stupid choices while inebriated. Anywhere from holding a loaded gun to his head to walking Sumo at 3 am to the nearest ice cream shop. So now, why not add smashing Connor’s window to the list?

A tiny place in his brain chanted ‘payback’ like a prayer, and that little piece was encouragement enough.

He made it in one piece, a feat actually worthy of applause. He came up to Connor’s window and steadied himself on the ledge. One hand held on while the other raised a fist towards the glass. 

The good karma police intervened before his knuckles could even make contact, and Hank stopped cold.

It took him....well, longer than it should have, admittedly, but eventually the scene before him unraveled. Things clicked and Hank was suddenly more sober than he’d been after Connor’s cold shower remedy.

A chill swept through him all the same, yet this one was almost debilitating.

He knew he should turn away, that he should just call Connor to let him in and hide in the corner of the house, but the sight in front of him was hypnotizing. Inescapable. 

The curtains in Connor’s room were usually kept parted as he like to watch the bird bath he’d put in the back yard from time to time. The 8 foot wooden fencing in their backyard made it unnecessary to really ever close them as it would always shield him from prying eyes. 

Except now and because of Hank of all people.

He bit his lower lip as his grip on the window ledge nearly faltered and he fell. His other hand reached out for the trim on the side, framing himself between the glass for a perfect view.

Connor, in all his stark, naked beauty, was rutting *savagely* into a pile of Hank’s clothing. Even thinking that sentence was one of the more impossible things Hank had ever imagined. But here it was- happening.

It was mostly just shirts and undergarments with Connor sat atop them, sitting on his knees with hands balled into the fabric of Hank’s striped shirt and bucking down.

It took a lot of visual power for one drunk man to follow everything, but-

Connor’s clit was settled against the coarse fabric of Hank’s very over used boxers. A pair of plain navy cotton shorts that were one of his most comfiest pairs for being over worn so frequently. 

And Connor was rutting into them.

His clit rubbed against the crotch piece, the heavy threads. A large dark spot covered the area that ticked his dick away and bled down a bit on the white undershirt beneath it. 

His hips twitched against the rhythm, his eyes screwed shut. He looked like he was in pain almost and Hank suspected by his desperate humping, that wasn’t so unbelievable. 

He was chasing his orgasm, writhing and clawing at Hank’s laundry as his mouth fell open on a cry loud enough to startle Hank in its clarity.

He finished, shaking and dipping his head down towards the mattress. 

It was over so quickly, but it would be burned into Hank’s very soul for the rest of his life. 

He was speechless and practically out of breath, and he hadn’t even done anything. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from what he’d just seen, couldn’t look away from the pile of clothes spread all over the bed in varying degrees of use. 

Connor moved and Hank’s shellshoked brain was unable to warn him. He needed to leave, duck, hide, whatever. Instead, he stood there gawking and eyes roaming the naked body before him. They kept coming back to the used up boxers and the place Connor had marked them.

By some act of GOD, Connor didn’t notice him. Not even as he threw the boxers to the floor on a separate, smaller clothes pile. Hank couldn’t see much from where he was, but he thought he saw a similar wet patch on the crotch of another pair of boxers.

That theory was proved pretty relevant when Connor sat back against his pillows at he head of his bed, legs spreading apart, and reached near his heel for a shirt Hank distinctly remembered wearing in the pouring rain last week. Only because Connor had immediately taken it to be ‘washed for him’ with such a fuss.

Eloquently, he smashed his face to the glass, cheek flattened against it, as he pressed his luck well beyond the safety limit. This was exactly how you got *caught*.

Surprisingly, he didn’t, though. Not while Connor was hungrily licking his lips and-

Connor brought the shirt up to his face, to his nose. Nearly his entire face covered by the material as he breathed Hank’s scent in. His tongue pushed out to taste the place his collar bones had touched. He rubbed his eyes and cheeks against the soft fabric, in a fashion akin to nuzzling it like some sort of puppy. 

Hank stared. He stared, and stared, and stared, and stared, and stared, and almost fainted when he’d locked his knees up for too long.

Connor’s other hand searched the display for Hank’s pillow case. It was 100% spandex-polyester and his favorite case that he’d stolen from a hotel.

It was heaven sneaking your hands underneath that thing in the heat of night, searching for the cool spot that’d always be there. It was soft on the hard lines of his face. It had been a little too loved-on to say the least; to the point a few of the threads were beginning to unravel near the opening.

Connor rubbed his throat on Hank’s dirty shirt. His head tilting back to drape it across his front. Then the other hand, wrapped gently around Hank’s pillow case, bringing it up between his spread legs. It found the hole of his pussy and with a careful swipe up, came away with several strings of Connor’s glistening slick. His *cum*.

Hank’s breathe hitched.

He spread the mess around his hole, slopping over his clit, his entrance, down to his taint. He made circles, slow and deliberate, over that spot in particular. Soon his legs were shivering and his hips were struggling to keep still. 

His pointer finger straightened out, looping around a small section of fabric so he could bring it to edge of his hole. He rimmed the pliant, pink flesh, following the line of his lips and drawing smaller and smaller circles inward until he was nearly stuffing the material inside him.

And then he was. A wave of fluid suddenly creeped out and covered the pile of laundry under his ass. It was soaking, an excess of precum expansive enough to fill Hank’s favorite coffee mug.

With it, Connor effortlessly slid his finger and the pillow case wrapped around it into his little box. He thrust in and out slowly, savoringly. He stopped more than once to make circles on the outside again, slopping up his swollen clit with his essence. His finger hooked and rubbed and Connor’s head fell back in silent praise. 

He didn’t like being too loud, didn’t like how his voice sounded when it broke and whimpered. He held Hank’s shirt to his lips and moaned into it, somewhat muffling him from the shameful noises. When his fingers rubbed harder, searched deeper, Connor was forced to clap it tight against his mouth. He could barely stifle the whine that came out of him. 

He spread his legs apart as wide as they could go, without a nice sturdy partner to hold them that is, and brutally began to fuck down on his finger. 

His wetness -there was just so *MUCH* of it- pooled out around the pillow case and framed his thighs, spreading more on each thrust. He’d think the mess was staged mess with inserts if Hank hadn’t come to realize the insane extent of things androids were capable of. He couldn’t help wondering how there was still that much wetness in one little body considering the mess of marked clothing on the floor. 

The pace got faster, the moaning more erratic. Connor’s leg jerked and he tried to anchor himself to the bed. 

Honey leaked out of him, his body varying shades of blue, and then finally, his eyes rolled back.... Finally, with a desperate cry he came, arching up from his hoard of pillows. His finger and Hank’s pillow case tried hard to work himself through it. 

Hank watched to the very. Fucking. End. 

Connor collapsed, panting and moaning as his body jerked through the after shocks. Receptor sensitivity was sky-high.

He pulled the shirt from his face, picking up the pillow case from beneath him, and threw both into the floor pile. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a second, hand holding his belly.

Hank was still reeling, still not comprehending what he’d seen.

He began to move again, turning around to lay on his stomach and reaching for the final pair of Hank’s used boxers to stuff against his tongue.

Hank’s dick had had it.

He was done with his dick being shoved into the splintered siding of his house.

Connor rubbed his chest into Hank’s clothing, grinding his hips down. 

Hank didn’t want to be stupid yet, but he *NEEDED* to for sanity reasons. 

There wasn’t much left for the imagination to work out about Connor’s feelings for him. Sure, he could chalk it up to a weird fascination with dirty clothing, some sort of fetish, but there was so much intimacy there. Connor’s every movement was deliberate and thoughtful, as if Hank’s laundry was something special.

That was weird to say out loud.

All things considered, he would willingly lose his mind if he had to endure another minute of Connor choking and cumming on his laundry.

Against all sensibility and reason, Hank raised his fist and knocked on the window.

Connor’s head popped up out if the laundry, half an eye covered by tussled hair, froze. Hank thought he’d actually hit the kill switch for a minute when hit LED went red.

On Connor’s end, he wished he had. Hank was staring at him right there through his window while Connor was lying naked, ass up, in Hank’s personal belongings. There was zero other context for this other than something sexual. What else could any sane person strike it up to? All the implications were there and he prayed, actually prayed, that Hank hadn’t seen all the parts that came before.

Hank knocked again, mouthing for him to ‘open up’, and slowly he complied.

He sat back on his heels, bringing one of Hank’s black undershirts with him in an attempt to cover himself. Fuck if that wasn’t the cutest fucking thing.

Connor opened the window with one hand, knuckles nearly white as he clutched Hank’s shirt with the other.

His face looked emotionally void except for how wide his eyes had gone. They were the epitome of fear. 

“I forgot my keys.” Hank said like his only interest was making his bedtime soon. 

Connor said nothing, only stared. And now Hank felt like an asshole.

Well, if he knew he’d just watched him jerk off with Hank’s stuff and color it in milky android spunk, then yeah, he would definitely be an unfit asshole.

Connor fought back emotional override.?After everything they’d built up to, this little piece of domesticity they’d created, Connor had single handedly decimated the entire thing. 

Here was Hank at his window, voice strained and heart pounding, he’d scanned, watching their life together unravel. How could Hank ever trust him again after this? Connor had just used Hank in a sense. Taken his things and used them for his pleasure. It was as despicable as if he had stolen money from his wallet, but that at least didn’t come with android goo. He flushed.

Hank was actually surprised to find Connor’s light remained red. That was highly unusual, and despite how painful his jutting dick was in these jeans in this weather, Hank was able to force enough blood into his brain to see his error.

In fact, he could see at least 50% clearer now that he wasn’t high on the sight of Connor fucking his things.

He’d screwed up here.

“I need in, I...left my keys here.”

Connor heard him perfectly, but he seemed to think Hank hadn’t realized his attempt to be civil was a breach of his mental health. Nothing about this was normal or worthy of ‘ignoring’. Hank could not pretend this never happened because that would be the absolute worst coping mechanism to add to his long list of baggage, and Connor wouldn’t let him. He deserved better, he needed better. He needed a better friend.

Connor couldn’t let this travesty go so long as he was living in Hank’s house, under Hank’s roof, on Hank’s time.

“I’m sorry!” He blurted. 

He wanted to respect Hank enough to drop his shirt. He wanted to have the courage to stand out of Hank’s laundry and look him in the eye like a good man instead of hiding behind it.

How could Hank stand to look at him?

Hank’s mouth fell open and he wanted to ask Connor ‘what’, but he had heard him. He just....didn’t quite understand why he had said it. HANK was the one who had invaded his privacy.

 

He thought he could maybe step inside before they had to talk about this. ‘Cause he’d be a very big idiot *not* to have a talk about his crush riding his work shirts.

 

“I’m sorry!” Connor sputtered uselessly.

The color had returned to face, hot with shame. Mostly because he’d broken Hank’s trust. He could deal with Hank catching him like this, embarrassing as it was. But it was Hank he wanted and it was Hank’s clothing he was fucking. He could not deal with Hank seeing him ruin them like this. 

“Hank, I-I... I couldn’t help it, I have a problem!” 

“Con, let me inside, alright? We can talk about anything you want after.”

“Hank, please!” His eyes began to sting, his throat felt like it was closing up. 

Do *not * cry.

“Say you forgive me!” Connor wanted to be stronger than this. He wanted Hank to decide things for himself. He didn’t want to grovel and beg until Hank humored him out of pity, and he never wanted to pressure him.

He wished he didn’t need Hank’s forgiveness, but he did than anything. He couldn’t push away his own selfishness to give Hank what he deserved out of this. Connor simply couldn’t face his own consequences properly. He rather be comforted and reassured, as if *he* was the victim from his debachery.

“Connor, what? Forgive you for what?”

Connor shielded his face in his hands before he could crumble. He couldn’t look at him, his best friend, another second. He would have to become better friends with regret.

“Connor.” Hank didn’t wait around for this to get worse. He said what Connor wanted to hear instead, as unnecessary as it was.

 

“Connor, I forgive you. Could you please let me in now?”

He lifted his face from his hands and stared at the way Hank’s shirt pooled around his hips.

“No, Hank, no! You don’t have to mean it!... I’m weak!”

“You’re an emotional roller coaster is what you are!”

That seemed to snap the other out of it. He blinked a few times, LED finally shifting to yellow. He didn’t want to look at him, embarrassed beyond repair by how unstable he was behaving.

 

“Connor, listen to me. Listen carefully.” Hank pushed the window up as high as it would go, then crossed his arms over the ledge. 

The smell of sugar and lavender hit him square in the face. Extra proof that Connor was some sort of fairy, living in a place of magic.

 

“You don’t need to be sorry, and i don’t have to forgive you,” Hank said the last part in a hurry when Connor tries to interject. 

“Because you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Wha-“

“You did something *surprising*....definitely. That’s really kid of an understatement. But the last thing on my mind right now isn’t about you taking my clothes and having sex with them. Uh, more or less.”

 

Connor blanked.

“I just want to get my fat ass inside my house so I can talk to you without this fucking window in the way.”

“You mean...” Connor swallowed. He reached down and threaded his fingers in Hank’s shirt, bringing it to his naval. He couldn’t fight his nervous tic, biting his lip until it almost chapped and split. 

“You mean you’re not angry?”

“Hell no.”

“You’re not...grossed out.”

“I think a better part of my brain should be, but I can’t find it. And I’m not trying, either.”

Connor swallowed, eyes falling to look at the sea of clothing he’d taken from Hank’s hampers.

Wait- 

Connor locked up, eyes going wide again.

.....

‘taking my clothes and having sex with them.’

.....

 

“Hank. Hank, how much did you see?!”

Connor looked like he was about to hyperventilate on air he didn’t even breathe.

“Wha-oh....uh...” Hank scratched the back of his neck and leaned away from the room. Suddenly the inky night sky was so much more appealing.

“Hank! How much?!”

Hank held his hands up.

“Ok, ok, don’t panic! I saw a few things, but not that much.”

“I need to know what. *Exactly* what did you see?!”

 

Connor shuffled his hands through his hair. He might have been lying when he said he could handle Hank seeing him like this.

Ra9, what horrirvhad he witnessed?

Had he seen him licking the recent ejaculate from the crotch of his jeans? Did he see him rub the inside of his chassis with his dirty pajama bottoms? Did he watch him deep throat the tie from his dress blues?

“JESUS CHRIST, Connor, *WHAT*?!”

Connor realized he should work on keeping his mouth shut when he was panicking.

“I’m malfunctioning! HANK, I’m MALFUNCTIONING!”

 

“Connor....holy fuck....” Hank swallowed, cock hard enough to cut through steel.

GOD, he’d really missed most of the fucking show. He was never drinking again.

Connor was actually hyperventilating now. Excess air flow was causing a glitch in system from his overstimulated airway. His vents were trying to filter debris and toxins at an alarming rate. A warning popped up, along with a -Caution, heat exhaustion-. Air flow was not getting directed properly.

Hank reached through the window, grabbed Connor’s shoulders and held him firmly. It was grounding but it would take a lot more than this to repair the damage.

“Connor, whatever I saw, I *liked* ok? I’m... I was really in to it.” He had no idea how hard saying that was going to be, despite Connor definitely returning the sentiment.

The other could barely hear him over the drumming of his pump.

“If you’d have told me 3 hours ago I’d find my partner like this, having feelings for me....however he did it,” Hank gestured to the pile of cum-stained clothes on the floor. 

“The one I’ve been drooling over for the better part of 6 months now, I wouldn’t have believe it. But I’d be wild about it all the same.”

Connor stopped, his over-corrected breathing was slowly becoming stable. 

His eyes timidly turned towards Hank, noticing for the first time the brilliant flush of red staining his cheeks.

 

“So whatever I saw, it was fuckin’ hot, ok? I was very into it.”

“You’ve been...You’re interested.. in *ME*?”

 

Hank should have waited until they knew what the hell they were doing a little bit better. Ideally he wouldn’t be coming out of a drunken haze, and Connor wouldn’t have just made him the horniest bastard on all 9 planets of their solar system.

 

“I am. I’m...I don’t know when it started, Connor. Could you just believe me that I’ve had it bad for you for way too long.”

“How long?” His voice was so small. So hopeful. It gave Hank courage. 

“Too long to be bothered by this. I’ve probably had crazy wet dreams about you like this that I’ve tried to repress. Well, not like *this*, like... more vanilla but just as good. Well, better than good.”

Ok, should have stopped sooner. 

The android, void of any previous shame, got this funny look in his eyes all at once.

“Hank, I... I’m really interested in you, too.”

Hank laughed louder than he should have.  
“Kind of obvious, Con.”

“No. Hank. I am sexually over-charged in regards to our relationship.”

Hank was able to suppress his laugh a little bit better that time. 

“I have been behaving highly erratically, to the point I’ve been stealing your clothing.”  
Granted he hadn’t been doing so for more than a few months and Hank had just confessed an attraction for roughly 6 months. 

6 wholemonths....How had they survived this long?

“I need to make this up to you, Hank. I need it.”

“Connor, no. This isn’t about redemption, just your weird ass kinks-“

“Hank.” Connor’s voice fell a few octaves in a way Hank had *never* heard it.

“I want to make this right.”

The older man got a funny feeling in his gut, as Connor was starting to look sort of suspicious all at once.

“Well, you can start by letting me in.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

“You can’t wait two minutes to unlock the door for me?”

“No.” Blue began to frost the tips of his ears. The process of his blushing always took a bit of time to cover his broader pieces of metal with the exception of extreme emotional distress.

“I can’t. I can’t Hank.”

Were his fucking eyes dilating or was he taking a fucking picture of Hank’s flushed out face? Maybe both.

He realized what was happening, what precious thing was unfolding before his very eyes. He wanted to sigh and rub his face in frustration, but this frustration wasn’t the angry kind. It was the kind you found when your pants were too tight and a hot piece of metal was trying to shoo you into his ‘parlor’ so to speak. The kind of frustration you could only fix with action, and action alone.

 

“I want to have you now.” Connor murmured. That coupled with the moans from that morning and the sudden sea of confessions he’d just witnessed had Hank looking at a blank page for reasons not to oblige him.

At least it wasn’t so cold outside anymore.

And they did have this fence.

And if they lost themselves at some point and the neighbors called for a noise complaint, the department would know it was his address.

 

Sudden and unprepared (and unwise) were all wikd trivializations of the real truth. This was about as bad as bad could get. 

This was....really just terrible. He was surprised Connor wasn’t here to inform them how ill advised this would be, but that Connor was somewhere far away, under the spell of his first crush’s longing gaze.

GOD, maybe Connor wasn’t too young as much as Hank was too old, but he really shouldn’t do this.

“Alright....Alright.” Hank rubbed his throat as if the words had stung him. He should say ‘no’. Make things right first.

Luckily, he was a weaker man.

“Hop up here.” He patted the ledge.

He’d risked his job and livelihood on an android he’d only known a for few days before

It wasn’t too insane that he would be willing to risk his decency for the same pretty face when it had been moaning and writhing for him.

Connor looked a little confused, trying to piece together how he was supposed to hop onto the windowsill exactly. He looked awkwardly at the shirt he’d been using to cover his crotch, then back at the ledge. He let it drop, face flushing blue, and crawled forward. 

Hank tried to stare at sensual look on Connor’s face as he scurried forward.

He moved to sit himself on the ledge with his naked thighs spread towards Hank’s. He didn’t know how the older man could perform a sex act with him from their as the window was a little too high to meet him properly. 

Hank stopped him from getting seated, staring blatantly as the show of skin. It gave Connor a rush, but he couldn’t quite indulge the way he’d like- thanks kindly to his scattering nerves.

“Not like that, Honey.”

The name caught him off guard and Connor stilled, hole clenching around nothing.

Hank grabbed his hips and turned him onto his side, maneuvering him from there to lay on his stomach. 

Connor blanked as his world was flipped over, staring out across his room with his stomach bent over a windowsill. His ass and Lowe half was outside exposed to the night air. 

He was naked. Outside. With Hank in a front row seat.

He shuddered when large hands came up to rest on each cheek. The warmth a stark contrast to his chilled room. Stirring up the nerves biting in his ‘stomach’. 

“You aren’t uncomfortable like this, are you, Connor?”

No, he definitely wasn’t. His ass and legs were hanging out like some kind of glory hole that Hank intended to fuck.

Connor almost moaned like the virgin he was at the thought alone.

Hank’s dick was at a near perfect reach of Connor’s hole like this. It was still a bit high, but Hank could work with the upward angle. Connor might not make it, though, not when he hit those spots just right.

His hands rubbed Connor’s cheeks a little more roughly, spreading them apart to peak at the little pink slit shielded beneath. Connor gasped, feeling like a butterfly being pinned for display. He attempted to look over his shoulder, but he was a bit too low to even see past the windowsill. Tall, hovering Hank was still in view with a face that was screaming ‘pounce’. He could easily with Connor outspread as such, his weight unbalanced between the ends of the frame and he could do little more than try to wiggle his ass and bear his palms down into the mattress to ground himself.

Hank gave him a fleeting glance, then disappeared from of view- what little Connor could see of him. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like being left open and exposed without his partner there to cover him. Then he could feel thick, calloused hands settle underneath the cup of his ass, pushing into his thighs and pulling the extra plush apart. The touch was his only indication that Hank was still there and still willing to take care of him. 

Then warmth.

Wet, dripping, warmth settled between his thighs into the cut of his slit. 

Connor screamed, not from surprise.

“Shhh, honey.” Hank murmured into the folds of Connor’s cunt.

“Don’t want the neighbors getting nosy.”

He poked at the same spot again, from the tip of his clit to the last little bit of hole, covering him in wet heat. He gasped and latched his claws into the bed, crying out again. His hands carded into one of Hank’s dress shirts, one he‘d never wear if not for the ceremony they were forced to attend two weeks ago.

There was no buffer of time before Hank’s tongue was at the tip of his clit again, swiping up. Immediately it was followed by an absolute lashing over the swollen nub. He mouthed at Connor’s hole, sucking almost reverently at the building fluids. He speared his tongue between the center of his folds and moved down, pushing over Connor’s sweet little button from below and catching the hood. He did that several times, up and down and up, over and over the aching nub of nerves.

Hank pulled away to admire Connor’s screams, which had finally caused a few porch lights to come on. Hank couldn’t care in the slightest. He kept his thighs apart so he could see the way his spit mixed with Connor’s precum and nearly dripped from his hole like rainfall. 

There was so much of it. So much slick and wetness and need. He wanted to keep kissing, he wanted to see how far he could fit a tongue in those clenching folds, but Connor was in agony.

His clit was in heaven, massaged and tongue fucked, while his opening had been teased to its limit. Rough hands pawing at his shivering legs.

It was torture without anything to fill him. The need to be plumped up with Hank’s cock between his soft, succulent lips, to ease this ungodly throbbing inside him, had reached critical mass. The most he’d had tonight was a slender finger up there, and his fingers would never cut it the way preconstructions of Hank’s giant ones did.

The aching, the wanting, the needing. It was making him hallucinate, judging by the way the pastel colors of his room began to swirl together.

He tried so hard to ram down onto something, to magically clench his pussy enough that the thick digits resting on his thigh would slide up and slip in- as if beckoned to. Every part of Hank belonged inside of him, right now, and he’d take anything he could get.

Hank pet his spine, stroking down and pampering the bottom where his ass began. His heavy hand slid over the last ‘vertebrae’, cheeks warming where he touched. Left to right, side to side, rubbing circles and hushing Connor like a scared animal.

Maybe he was being a little too loud for outdoor sex, but Hank had just mapped out every part of his honey pot like he was drilling for oil. Nothing was left dry from Hank’s mouth alone, and his slit was still thriving in the heat it’d left behind.

He couldn’t help his bucking.

“Not so loud, darlin’. The neighbors might complain.” Hank didn’t even attempt to mute his voice as he said this.

 

“Hannnk,” Connor whined. He shuffled his ass around as best he could.

“Hannnk, ~please~ finish me.”

That wasn’t the words he’d wanted to use exactly. He wanted to say ‘fuck me’ or ‘fill me’ or ‘Inside! Please!’. But Connor didn’t feel right making the orders. He didn’t think he could demand any of that, no matter the ache in his cunt, after he’d stolen and fucked Hank’s belongings. Whatever the Lieutenant would give me was all he could respectfully ask for.

 

The moment Hank released his thighs, Connor’s legs clamped shut. He squirmed around, trying to ease the deep burning by smashing everything together. He was practically rutting into his own thighs. It surely looked as pathetic as he felt right now. 

Hank watched in avid fascination.

His hole so small, it disappeared entirely between his thighs as they rubbed. All that was left was the rise and fall of Connor’s pert little ass moving with his desperate ruts.

Hank’s hand came down over a faint smattering of some freckles on his cheek, swift and a bit harder than he’d initially intended.

Connor yelped, legs ceasing their rubbing as Hank took his opportunity. His thumbs dug into his thighs, grip harder than before. It was strong, demanding- like Hank. It alone had Connor mewling, eager to obey. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than being good and his legs spread wide, as if on their own. 

“Hand me those boxers.”

Hank didn’t have to peer over to know that last pair of boxers Connor was about to work on were still there. Last pair, which meant Connor was trying to make them count. 

Well, so was Hank.

“Gimme those, now.”

The android scrambled to comply, pushing the jeans and button downs that’d gotten tussled over them off the bed. He reached back as much as he possibly could in this angle and Hank snatched them away. 

Connor had barely managed to get his arm back underneath him and balance his weight when Hank was reaching over to stuff the boxers in Connor’s mouth.

He sputtered, hips seizing and his knees scraping against the siding.

Hank took one thigh by the middle and hiked it up. He was opened so prettily like this, cunt on full display now that his cheeks were being forced to spread. 

“Don’t take that out, honey. I can’t trust that mouth of yours.” Connor moaned deep and low in his throat. The sound was perfectly muffled, and now he could fuck him stupid at will.

Hank vaguely wondered if he could apply this silencing method somehow to Connor’s crime scene manner. It worked like a fuckimg charm.

Connor rocked in Hank’s grasp, trying to find some kind of friction either forwards or back. Hank’s boxers rubbed against the ridges of his tongue, teasing the back of his throat with a gentle little swipe when his moaning became loud enough to cause vibrations.

 

Hank studied the sight laid out for him before deciding he was quite happy with the state he had left him.

Fluid leaked from his cunny still, though a little less pronounced. His body was saving that surprise for when Hank finally snuck inside.

He undid his fly, pushing his jeans down enough for his cock to spring free of his boxers. Connor couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear it. The sudden smear of precum and Hank’s fat cock sliding against his cheeks was more than a little startling.

He cried out, wish he could bury his face in one of Hank’s shirts, but was stopped by the damned window bending him in half. The best he could do was suck on the boxers Hank’d graciously shoved past his teeth.

He just wanted a little more. He *NEEDED£ a little more. When was Hank going to fuck him?

He wiggled his ass, whines stifled, but clear I’m their need. Hank understood perfectly.

“Alright, honey. Alright.”

He quit pushing around the outside of his ass and lined his head up with the dripping hole. His hand rubbed the back of Connor’s knee as he slowly pushed in, careful not to overwhelm him. Too much. His body gave easily, aided by the sopping state of his cunt. 

Connor went perfectly still, feeling himself pull and stretch against Hank’s girth. He couldn’t think about how lucky he was to have convinced him into doing this, but he intended to count his every blessing for every thick inch of cock digging into him when this was over later. 

Hank was only three thrusts in when he took Connor’s other leg that wasn’t supported and wrapped it back around his waist, licking it there with a hand around his ankle.

He was spread out like a bendable fuck toy, hole stretched open in angles that made the large dick invading him fuck deep into bold new places his fingers couldn’t even imagine filling.

He watched the way Connor’s pussy bulged and pulled against the entirety of his shaft. It moved to accommodate as much as of his weight as it could, but Hank could tell the way it tightened against his will on every hard thrust was doing a number on Connor’s insides.

His body couldn’t expand around Hank’s cock properly, so every thrust in was another second of Connor taking too much dick at a time. It pushed everywhere inside him, every covering of wire, nerve, and melding that knotted beneath the layers of silicone. It drew Hank’s cock in with its ridges I’m such a way that Hank briefly wondered if Connor was trying to analyze him from this hole as his mouth would.

Connor was a screaming mess. Spit drooled down the offending cloth stuffing his mouth and mingled on his bed with his cum. Below him, Hank’s clothing looked so inviting, and he just wanted to nestle his face into every soft piece and heavy scent and let warmth consume him. The way they hugged Hank’s body, the fact that Hank had worn many of these when he was fucking himself. Fuck, did he mention their taste? He wanted that closeness, too, and for so long this was all he could do to get even slightly as close to Hank. 

His legs were held firmly in place, hard cock shoving up his pussy with exhausting accuracy, considering he’d been tight enough to close Hank out if he pulled away too far. If he hadn’t been as slick as baby oil, Hank would never have gotten back inside of him on that third thrust. He was stretched thin, too tight. Too strong.

“You still good, honey?”

“Ummmph! Hmmm!”

Connor’s ass was bouncing against Hank’s lower belly on each thrust. He indulged, he couldn’t help it. He listened intently the slap of skin and the way the freckles dotting his ass smushed up against him and cane back perfectly smooth with each thrusts. His ass was so damn taut and he had to wonder how he was meant to keep his hands off of this part of Connor, too. It was adorable the way it flattened and rounded against Hank’s brick wall of a body. He had absolutely no give and then Connor had *all* of it. So pliant.

So soft.

So little in comparison to Hank’s crushing hips.

His hand rested on Connor’s ass, thumb stroking smooth little circles. Without warning, he dipped down and swiped it against the hole there.

Connor spasmed.

“Yeah?”  
Hank noticed the difference immediately.

“That feel good?”

Connor tried to give some indication that YES. Yes it was absolute fire in his tubing.

He managed a hoarse moan, even with the boxers in his mouth, and a pitiful thrust in no particular direction. Hank was thankfully becoming increasingly good at reading Connor’s endless string of desperation. Every poorly controlled thrust and shake in his core was enough encouragement to give Hank what he needed. 

His thumb pushed over Connor’s hole, thumb plugging him easily with its thickness. He moved in circles against the ring of artificial muscle, stroking it slowly in contrast with his brutal thrusts.

Connor’s vision went white, static coursing through his visual feed as sensation over threw him.

 

To the best of his knowledge, he’d screamed Hank’s name into the boxers, writhed against the cock spearing him open when it rubbed over the switch plate of nerves against his walls. Sparks shot through him from the back of his head to the base of his spine and he was very glad he had something to keep him quiet down his throat. If he was saying the horrific things his departing electric brain was thinking, he’d never fuck him again without a crucifix.

Hank fucked tirelessly. He pet the little hole opening up for him and filled the front one with as much of himself as it could take- which was *all*. Connor was like a plant that been left in the sun and needed watering. He drank everything in that Hank was willing to give him. Luckily, Hank wanted him swimming in his seed, and he delivered. He filled his pussy until they were giving the outside of his house a new coat of white. 

It ruined Hank’s jeans, possibly permanently, and drooled out of Connor in warm, thick beads.

He could taste, he could kiss, but Hank chose to free his sweetheart’s mouth of his boxers and wipe his shuddering hole instead.

“There.” He handed it back, not 100% if this was crossing the line or adding more fuel.

“Us.” Hank said simply. Connor took it with shaky hands, legs pushed tight together to relieve some of the ache in them.

He realized then that Hank had just offered him their essence to use later. If his eyes could form hearts...

“Hank-“ his voice was cracking with static. His hand came up and closed around his throat.

Hank was fruitlessly stuffing himself back into his soaked out jeans he’d just have to pry off in a few minutes. (If Connor finally let him in). He pulled Connor towards him by the hips and pulled him off the windowsill into his chest. 

Connor flushed at the display of surprising strength, but managed to keep Hank from noticing. He’d been spread embarrassingly thin enough.

He turned in Hank’s grasp, weaving himself under his chin and into his arms while Hank rested his forehead into his shoulder. He was warm and big wgere Connor wasn’t, easing the ache across his belly from where he’d been bent across the hard wood for so long.

Hank had millions of things he wanted to say, like why he still wasn’t in his house yet. More than that, he wanted to know how Connor felt, if Hank had been a pervert for spying on him. If Connor wanted to do this again.

The other sunk lower and rubbed his face into Hank’s chest- deep into his pecks, admiring its plushness. If the crazy, little minx rubbing itself over him like a cat in heat wasn’t answer enough, then Hank would have to accept he was some kind of idiot. He hadn’t become the youngest lieutenant in the whole department if that were true.

“Connor...can we go inside now?”

“We agreed to leave the back door unlocked after the last time this happened.”

Hank stared at him, the Android having the nerve to look innocent. But it wasn’t his fault Hank had decided to turn into a peeping tom.

“Con, you have five seconds to get inside that house.”

“I’ll let you go first, out of courtesy.”

“I’ll show you where you can stick your courtesy.”

“I- ah!”

Hank smacked his ass, hard, before he could test his patience another second. Connor did not argue that time. Tight ass and tiny waist walking briskly towards the door.

Thank GOD for the fence. They’d done enough damage providing the neighborhood with a pornographic soundtrack.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for surviving


End file.
